She took up her quill again, adding these, though not at all assuaged given the blatant pride in his tone. When she looked up again, he was asleep.
Concern kept Juliet awake till she could not keep her eyes open, and she finally retired to the uncomfortable hammock. The next morning the ship’s surgeon came to the cabin to assess their patient, turning on Juliet with a canny eye.
“You look nearly as ill as Mr. Buchanan,” he rebuked her, “which will profit him nothing. Take yourself to the quarterdeck while I tend to your husband.”
Juliet reluctantly obeyed. Rarely had she had time for fresh air or exercise since they’d embarked. Wrapped in her hooded wool cape, she traded the sickroom for the deck after taking a last look at Leith.
The January air was bracing, and sailors swarmed in every direction. The captain greeted her and, after inquiring about Leith, showed her the porpoise leaping alongside the ship in colorful abandon. Her joy vanished when several jacks set about trying to catch it for supper.
“I shan’t eat any,” she told Captain Hicks with a sad smile. “Let the beautiful creature alone.”
“Porpoises are only beautiful in the water, where their colors are at play. Once caught, they fade to a dull gray.”
Dismayed, she went below again to find Leith with Loveday, who sent her a concerned glance as the doctor prescribed yet another sleeping draught. He left abruptly, vowing to return soon, though several sailors were ill with some minor malady, demanding his attention elsewhere.
“No more sedatives,” Loveday told her once the door was closed. “I believe if Mr. Buchanan could shake off hislethargy and move about, it would help clear his lungs. His pallor is concerning.”
“He’s very weak being abed so long.” Juliet removed her cape and repinned her cap, half torn away by the wind. “I’ve asked Cook to prepare more broth. Perhaps between the two of us we can get some down him.”
“We shall try.” Loveday looked toward the stern windows. “I feel a change in the weather.”
“The navigator feels a storm brewing. ‘Mares’ tails and mackerel scales make lofty ships carry low sails,’ he said.”
But the weather was the least of their concerns. Juliet went to Leith, who was so alarmingly still. Was he even breathing? She placed a hand on his chest, wanting to feel his heartbeat beneath the linen shirt, and bent low to feel his breath on her cheek. When it didn’t come, she grasped his shoulders and shook him, her panic a living, breathing, clawing thing.
“Juliet!” Loveday was behind her at once, her hand on her shoulder.
Letting go of Leith, Juliet gave a little cry, her backside colliding with the bed and jarring him further. “Is he breathing? I cannot tell—”
“Be easy, Sister.” With the calm resolve of a competent nurse, Loveday felt his wrist. “His pulse is faint but his fever seems to have lessened. I’m most troubled by the rattle in his chest. He has been too long on his back. Perhaps if we were to turn him over onto his side once he’s fed...”
The cabin boy appeared with broth and the ship’s biscuits no one was fond of. Little by little Juliet spooned the broth to Leith, following it with a healthy dose of water. He cooperated before sliding into sleep again, this time on his side.
“We’ll continue with broth and water round the clock,” Loveday said. “And look forward to trading ship’s biscuits for Scottish bannocks in the near future.”
Bannocks sounded no better to Juliet’s thinking. “We’ve been at sea nearly a fortnight. I pray that’s half the journey. I’m dreadfully homesick and long to be on land.”
“As do I.” Loveday took a seat by the stern windows, her sewing box in her lap. “I pray for calm seas. I don’t want to be off my feet again. You’re a far better sailor.”
“I’m glad we have our handwork to help pass the time.” Juliet felt a surge of thanks. Such offered a semblance of normality, at least. Loveday’s needles were flying. “What are you knitting?”
“A blanket for your firstborn. I plan to adorn it with ribbon embroidery.”
Firstborn?
“A fool’s errand!” Juliet hissed, aghast. “I suggest you make mitts for yourself instead.”
“Fiddle-faddle! Mitts are so mundane.” Loveday gave a wistful sigh. “Need I remind you Mr. Buchanan is no monk.”
What?“How you can have a virile thought about a dying man is beyond me.” Weren’t Leith’s midnight rallying and the copious notes in her daybook proof he wasn’t long for this world?
“Nor are you a nun,” Loveday continued sweetly. “You yourself confessed you’re attracted to him.”
Stiffening, Juliet turned her back on Leith as if it could block Loveday’s overloud words. “And I kindly invite you to forget it.”
“Never. You’ve not said that about another man living save Colonel George Washington.” Loveday’s knitting continued apace. “I believe Mr. Buchanan shall overcome. He’s not one given to defeat even in illness.”
“Nae, I am not.” The voice from the bed was hoarse but firm.
